


If I Ever Lose My Faith

by helsinkibaby



Series: Tests of Faith [3]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-13
Updated: 2002-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-ep to Mandatory Minimums - "I really wanted to know if, when they were fixing me up with my ex-wife, they told my current wife about it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Ever Lose My Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Just found my original A/N where it said this is the first of a trilogy... oh, how naive I was!

_Some would say I was a lost man in a lost world_  
You could say I lost my belief in the people on tv  
You could say I'd lost my faith in politicians  
They all seemed like game show hosts to me  
If I ever lose my faith in you  
There'd be nothing left for me to do  
I could be lost inside their lies without a trace   
But every time I close my eyes I see your face. 

_*_  
"No boom today. There's always a boom tomorrow."  
  
We had a good night last night. No, scratch that. We had a great night last night. The President threw his hat over the wall, CJ worked the press beautifully at the briefing afterwards - well, apart from that not legally obligated snafu, but we fixed that - and Josh told the Senate Majority Leader to shove his legislative agenda up his ass.

Professional life doesn't really get much better than that.

We went back to the White House, and everyone was in high spirits. I, for example, was in such high spirits that I stood behind Sam as he crafted a speech and just let him have at it, not wrestling it away from him like I usually have to do.

This, for me, is right up there with complimenting Mandy Hampton.

In short, this wasn't another Day of Jubilee, but it was damn close.

And when I went home, at an earlier time than usual for me, in celebration of the day that was in it, I shared a Chinese takeout meal with my wife, before taking her to bed and making love to her slowly, several times. I fell asleep with her wrapped in my arms and woke up the same way this morning. I woke up smiling, feeling good about the day, feeling good about what we were doing.

I should have remembered that quote then. There might not have been a boom yesterday, but there sure as hell was today. And I never even saw it coming.

It took a while for us to actually get up after the alarm went off. Nothing unusual in that of course. I left as normal, although I missed having breakfast with her. But she understood that I had a breakfast meeting with Leo and the rest of the Senior Staff, and that our usual morning routines would have to take second place for once. She was pottering around the kitchen when Sam arrived, cleaning up what I thought was already passably clean and finishing up her cup of coffee, and she waved to him and he to her, and she reminded me not to order anything too high in cholesterol. Sam promised to keep an eye on me, and once the door closed behind us, I threatened to break his kneecaps if he did anything of the sort.

And despite the fact that we walked past the restaurant because Sam was so caught up in our conversation, it still felt like a good morning. Despite the fact that Al Kiefer was going to be in the Oval Office this afternoon, it still felt like it was going to be a good day.

I reckoned without Josh and Leo doing everything in their power to turn my life upside down.

A meeting they said. Wrapping it up in nice, innocent, everyday language. They send me to a dozen of these a week, and even if they are a pain in the ass, they're nothing too strenuous. Usually. Except for they were working a little too hard to be casual about it, trying to pretend that it was no big deal, but the fact that they'd pulled me out of the Oval Office into Leo's to tell me, while the meeting was still going on, thus negating my ability to yell too loudly, told me that there was more to this than met the eye.

Thus, it was with no small amount of trepidation that I asked, "With who?"

And there it was, right in plain sight. "A prominent House Democrat who has a voice on Campaign Finance Reform and if it was someone on the Ethics Committee that'd be even better, cause then she could answer some of Leo's questions," Josh told me, hardly able to look at me as he said it, obviously aware of what my reaction might be.

Of course, I could have told him that it wasn't my reaction that they should be worried about.

But I had to be sure that they were asking me to do what I thought they were asking me to do. "I used to be married to someone who fits that description."

Josh having done his part, the other member of this fearsome tag-team came into play. "I set up lunch for the two of you."

This was just too much. Leo is the White House Chief of Staff. He convinced the President to run in the first place, he was one of the major architects of our campaign strategy. Josh is a graduate of Harvard and Yale, and a Fulbright Scholar. These are two seriously intelligent men I'm dealing with here. And yet, they were treating this as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with what they were asking me to do.

"You set me up on a date with my ex-wife?"

"Yeah." Leo said, either oblivious to what I was thinking, or unwilling to admit that he knew. "Let her know the president's not going to ask the democrats to unilaterally drop soft money."

"Make that clear," Josh added.

"And also take her temperature on the ethics thing," Leo concluded, as if Josh hadn't spoken.

They were really serious. They both wanted me to do this. And I found myself saying, "OK."

Of course, once I got out of the office, I found myself with a thousand questions that I wanted to ask them. I wanted to remind them that there was a very good reason that Andrea and I got divorced, namely that we couldn't talk to each other without it degenerating into an argument. I wanted to ask them why the hell they thought that we'd be able to debate this like adults, since we disagreed on pretty much everything, both personal and political by the end of our marriage. I wanted to ask them why they thought I'd have any sway with her.

And I really wanted to know if, when they were fixing me up with my ex-wife, they told my current wife about it.

I didn't see her before I left for my lunch date. And I didn't see much of her afterwards either. I get the feeling that she was avoiding me. She left at eight, like she always does, but this time, she didn't come into my office to tell me she was heading off, didn't come around my desk to kiss me on the cheek, reminding me to come home sometime in the next few hours.

I knew I was in trouble then.

I went to see the President, told him that I spoke with Andrea, told him that I agreed with her about mandatory minimums. I kept expecting the sky to fall as I said it, but he just nodded, and wagged his finger at me and told me that Andrea had been nagging me for a year about mandatory minimums, that she'd finally convinced me, that I was wupped and that they now knew who wore the pants in the Ziegler family.

And I didn't say anything, because I knew how right he was.

Except for the fact that he had the wrong Mrs Ziegler.

Which brings me to where I am now, standing in the doorway of our house, ready to walk into the lion's den as it were. There's a light on in the living room, I can see that from the street, so that means she's still up. Sometimes I come home to find her reading, or watching a late movie, or one of those annoying late night talk shows. Nights like that, she gets up and makes us hot chocolate as I tell her about my day and she tells me about hers, and we curl up on the couch together to drink it. Sometimes I find her asleep on the couch, tiredness having taken her unawares as she waited for me. Those are the nights when I make the hot chocolate and wake her as gently as I can before we resume our nightly positions. Then there are the nights where she's already in bed when I get home. Those are the nights where I stand and watch her for a few moments before the temptation to join her overwhelms me, and I wash up as quickly as possible before slipping off my clothes and slipping in beside her, curling my body around hers.

We've been married since the campaign, and not once have I been afraid to step through my own front door, knowing that she was on the other side.

I really am going to kill Josh this time.

Muttering a silent prayer, I step through the door, and my worst fears are confirmed. Nothing appears out of the ordinary at first, not until I take my first breath. Then, I smell them. There's the slight floral fragrance of the little sachet things that she puts into the vacuum cleaner. On top of that, there's the stronger lemon scent of furniture polish, and what seems like a goodly blast of the air freshener she uses to get the smell of my cigars out of the house. As I get further into the house, I can see into the kitchen, and the gleaming silver of the hob and the sparkling ceramic of the tiles tell me that I'd find more smells if I walked in there. I don't even want to consider what would be in front of me if I went into the bathroom.

My house looks like a showroom. And while she keeps it clean, far cleaner than I ever managed to keep any home in my bachelor days, it's never this clean. Not unless she's really upset.

I find her sitting on the couch, like I normally do, but instead of sitting comfortably, or lying stretched out, she's curled up into a little ball, resting her head on her knees. She doesn't look up at me when I come in, and her hair is falling forward, obscuring any view I might have of her face. She's wearing faded grey sweatpants and a too-big sweatshirt that has CCNY stamped across the front - her comfort clothes she calls them.

So she does need comforting then.

I stand there looking at her, not sure of what to say. And when I finally do speak, it's only a whisper. "Ginger?"

Slowly, or maybe it just seems that way, she turns her head and looks up at me, and my heart does something funny in my chest. Her face is blotchy, her eyes red. I've never seen her look so devastated and I'm beside her before I realise that I'm moving. My hand reaches out and pushes back her hair before pulling her into my arms, and I'm pleased and relieved when she doesn't resist. Just the opposite in fact - she holds on to me for dear life, as if she's afraid that I'm going to slip away from her. When she pulls back, her eyes are dry, but she's visibly shaking. I'm not feeling too steady myself, but I manage a smile for her. "You're mad at me?" I ask her, wanting to get right to the point, but she surprises me when she shakes her head.

"I'm mad at me," she says quietly.

No matter what I was expecting, it wasn't that. "Excuse me?"

"You had lunch with Andrea today." Her voice is flat, lifeless.

"I didn't know anything about it until right before," I tell her quickly, letting her know that I had nothing to do with it. "It was Leo who set it up."

"I know that." I must look as surprised as I feel, because one corner of her mouth turns up in a smile. "Margaret told me. I don't think she wanted to run the risk of me finding out accidentally."

"I wanted to tell you. But I couldn't find you." Which is a rare enough occurrence, even though both she and Bonnie split duties as my assistant. That was a decision purposely taken after we took office. There was gossip enough during the campaign when it was discovered that my assistant and I were seeing each other, even more when we got married mid-campaign. I was adamant that I didn't want anyone else as my assistant but Ginger - and most people agreed that she was the only one who could work with me and not kill me, as well as being the only person at assistant level who wasn't scared by me - and having two assistants was the best compromise that we could come up with.

She raises an eyebrow at that. "You think that was a coincidence?"

"No," I allow. "But I don't understand. Why are you mad at yourself?"

She shakes her head, looking up and off to the side. "Because I was jealous."

"You know, don't you, that there's no need?"

She laughs softly, looking down at our joined hands. "I know that Toby. That's why I was so mad."

I tilt my head to the side. "I don't understand."

"I know. Me either." She sighs then, not looking up at me. "I know that you and Andrea were over a long time ago. And I know that you love me, and that you wouldn't…" Her voice falters. "I know that Toby. I know that. But I still felt jealous. I couldn't stop thinking about all the things that you've shared together…all the history that you have…"

"We've got quite a bit of history ourselves," I remind her, thinking back to the first time that I met her. I was in between campaigns at the time, back home in New York, and an old friend of mine asked me to be a guest lecturer at one of his Masters classes at NYU. I agreed and gave my lecture, and answered questions afterwards, and I remember clearly being very impressed by the pretty redhead in the front row who asked all the questions and really listened to and understood the answers. I was even more impressed after the lecture, when she waited for me outside the theatre and asked me if I'd like to go for a drink. That was the start of us, and by the time she finished her Masters, I was already with the Bartlet campaign, and it seemed natural that she join me there. Leo's face when I told him about her was a picture; he all but asked me if I'd lost my mind, worrying about how it would look, one of the senior campaign officials bringing in his girlfriend on staff. He worried even more when I went through eight different volunteers as my assistant before Ginger temporarily took over the role. She was the only one who wouldn't take any crap from me, the only one that I would listen to, and before long, even over the objections of Leo and everyone else, she was my assistant permanently, and that's the job she's held ever since.

When we got married, the strong rumour was that Ginger was pregnant. Or that we were doing it to legitimise our relationship in the eyes of the voters; that they wouldn't take a man and his younger wife working together as badly as they would a man and his much younger girlfriend. Neither supposition was anywhere close to the truth. What actually happened was that one night we were both working late in the campaign office; the last two there. Neither fact was anything unusual; nor was it unusual that I was in a foul mood, looking for facts and figures and reports. I was in the middle of some long ranting discourse about Sam's use of figurative language, when I looked up and there she was, standing in front of me. Most of the lights in the rest of the office outside were off, and whatever way she was standing, the lights that were there lit her from behind. And she was standing there, looking at me with this little smile on her face, just letting me go on and on. And despite the fact that we were in the midst of a gruelling campaign, despite the fact that it was some ridiculous hour of the morning, despite the fact that I'd been screaming at people all day, she was still smiling, looking for all the world as if there was no place else she'd rather be.

She had never looked more beautiful.

I stopped in the middle of a sentence, I'm sure I did. Because the thought struck me all of a sudden that I would die - really, truly, literally die - if I didn't spend the rest of my life with this woman.

This woman who was looking at me with a rather worried expression on her face. "Toby?" she asked.

And I said the only words that were in my head right at that moment. The only words that were in my heart.

"Marry me."

Her jaw dropped open, and the reports in her arms fell to the floor, but she didn't even look at them. She asked me to repeat myself, and I found myself standing in front of her, telling her all the reasons that we had to get married.

I know; it's most unlike me. I can't explain it either.

But it must have worked, because she said yes.

We got married a week later, in front of a Justice of the Peace in Manchester. It was a small wedding, with Donna, with whom Ginger had struck up a great friendship, as bridesmaid, and Josh as best man. CJ and Sam were the only other two people there, but we made up for that with the party afterwards. The entire campaign staff showed up to wish us well, and to tell us to enjoy our honeymoon. Which lasted all of one day, spent in the next town over.

But it was perfect. It was us.

That was a little over two years ago, and I can honestly say, hand on heart, that I've never cheated on Ginger, nor even considered it. Why would I? These have been the best years of my life.

Of course, I forget to tell her that sometimes. A lot of times. I always expect her to know, like she knows everything else about me. To accept it without question, as she accepts everything else.

"And our history…" I tell her now, knowing that this is an oversight I have to correct, "Is far more pleasurable than mine and Andi's." I raise our hands to my lips and kiss her knuckles lightly, and am rewarded by the hint of a genuine smile trying to break through.

"It's stupid…but I just kept thinking that you and she must have been like us at one time…that you told her all the things that you tell me. And then, I saw you."

I blink, not sure if I've heard her properly. "You saw us?"

"In the bullpen. In your office."

I run the conversation over in my head and my eyes close, knowing what she'd heard. I can hear Andi's voice in my head, "Toby, are you upset that I went out on a date? Or are you upset that I went out on a date with someone who plays in the same division as the Yankees?" And my response echoes back, "Honest to God, I'm not sure."

What was I doing having a conversation like that in the bullpen with my ex-wife, when my wife is working feet away?

And then I remember standing in my office, inches away from Andi, can feel her hand on my lapel.

This is one that I can't blame on Josh. Although, give me time.

"Ginger…you didn't think…."

She shakes her head quickly, a rueful laugh escaping. "I know it didn't mean anything Toby. You were just doing what you usually do."

"Excuse me?"

"Flirting with her." Her expression and tone are nonchalant, and she doesn't blink.

I chuckle at that. "I was not flirting with Andi. And 'usually'? What do you mean by that?"

She laughs too then, as if she can't believe that I'm denying it. "Oh Toby please. You were so. And you always do, you can't help yourself. You don't even realise you're doing it."

My eyes open very wide. "Name for me please one woman who you've seen me flirt with."

The response is immediate. "CJ."

Ah. I can see how the throwaway banter that CJ and I have going on could be construed as flirting. At a push mind you. "Someone else."

She grins, and I know that I'm in trouble. "After the Mendoza confirmation? You were nice to Margaret in the hall. And you complimented me and Bonnie and Mandy when you got into your office."

"It was my Day of Jubilee!"

My protest doesn't stop her though. "And while that being flirting is open to debate, you can't deny that you were flirting with Mandy when the President cooked chilli on Big Block of Cheese Day." My mouth opens to protest, but she doesn’t stop. "I was clear across the room Toby, and I recognised the signs. And I wasn't going to mention Joey Lucas in L.A…."

I frown in suspicion. "You weren't in L.A."

"Sam told Cathy. Cathy told me."

"I'll kill him."

Her laugh tells me that she's taken that as an admission of guilt. "Toby, I don't care about that. When it's CJ, or Bonnie, or Mandy, or whoever. It doesn't matter, because I know that you don't think about them like that. But when it's Andrea…"

I nod, understanding her point. "It's different."

"Yeah." She sighs. "I know it sounds silly…"

I squeeze her hand. "You know you have nothing to worry about, right?" She nods, but the blue eyes that look up at me still have doubt lingering in them. "Ginger…you and Andi are so different…. our marriages are so different. With Andrea, there was chemistry…there was passion…but what we didn't realise until it was too late was that it wasn't just fiery passion, it was, in fact, combustible. Explosive. And we would try to compromise, but that would lead to resentment, which would lead to more fights…it was never going to last." The doubt is still there, but I think it's lessening. "But with you…there's still the passion." We share a knowing smile. "But it's different somehow…it's more… it's better. More secure. I don't ever doubt you Ginger. I know that no matter what happens, in the White House or outside of it, that you're going to be there for me. That you won't leave me. It's total faith. Total trust." I take one of my hands from hers and brush back a lock of hair as I speak. "And when the world is going crazy, I can look at you and know that I'm going to be fine. As long as I've got you." I know that I'm getting somewhere when tears come into her eyes. "You are my rock Ginger. My touchstone. And I have no idea - none - of what I would do without you. And I don't even want to imagine having to."

I run out of words momentarily, and that's when she loosens her hands from mine, and throws her arms around my neck, burying her head in the crook of my shoulder. Her shoulders shake slightly, and one of my hands makes small circles on her back as the other busies itself in her hair. "I love you Toby," I feel, as much as hear, her whisper, and I hold her that bit tighter in response.

"I love you too Mrs Ziegler," I tell her. When she pulls away from me, her smile is genuine. "Better?" I ask and she nods.

Her gaze flicks over to the kitchen. "Hot chocolate?" she asks.

I consider for a moment, then shake my head. "Let's go to bed." She doesn't answer me, just stands and takes my hand, and we walk there together. And once we're there, we don't think of Andi, or the White House, or anything but each other. And while I'm reasonably sure that there will probably be another boom tomorrow, I don't care right now.

I'll worry about tomorrow's boom tomorrow.


End file.
